Deep Infatuation
by TF2bananas
Summary: The Batter's infatuation with his player was never evident to the puppeteer. At least, not until the great man crumbled at his need to express his innermost devotion...
1. Chapter 1

"Batter, we need sleep."

The man blinked at me with two eyes. I doubt he was expecting me to speak at that moment, or any other moment really. Truth be told, we didn't communicate much other than my curt deliveries of orders. I told him what to do, he obeyed, and that's just the way it was. It wasn't that I was full of myself or had some sort of dislike for the Batter, but rather my own unease in the situation. To be fair to myself, we _were _on a killing spree, and had in fact, just finished off a horde of Spectres that was plaguing some poor, defenceless Elsen. I was confused, I was disorientated, but most of all, I was tired. I had completely lost track of time in this strange, dull world, but judging from my body clock, it had been approximately two days since I'd last slept, and the effects were very clearly starting to show.

"Sleep?" he asked me, confusion clouding his deep, French-accented voice.

"Yes, sleep. Have you not heard of it Monsieur? It is what one does when they are tired," I explained sarcastically, "which I happen to very well be."

"I see," he stated. Though he had four eyes, I was quite sure he could not, in fact, see my point at all. "Very well," he said, shifting his weight around on his legs uncomfortably, "sleep."

"What, here?" I asked, taken aback. Seriously, did this man not know what sleep was?

"What is wrong with here?"

"There's no bed. Or couch. Or mat. Just metal and plastic. I can't sleep here," I explained, rubbing my eyes. "Have you never slept before?" I asked him. "Never been in a bed?"

"I have been in a bed," he told me. "It is purely for the enjoyment of another's company in the most intimate fashion. Or perhaps, is this what you meant by 'sleep' ?" he asked me, curiosity now evident in his words.

"Um no, I did not," I assured him. "Sleep is nothing like sex. It's more like a very temporary death, or a short-term, comfortable coma."

"Why would you want to die or be in a coma?" he asked, shocked by my explanation.

"My body needs it. It helps it maintain strength and alertness. Things which I need if we are to purify this world, I'm afraid," I told him. "May we please find a bed so that I may rest?" I asked him politely.

"You are my superior on this quest; if you wish it, then so it shall be," he said solemnly.

"Glad you see it my way amigo" I yawned.

"Please do not repeat Zacharie's words dearest player, hearing them once is more than enough," he mumbled.

"Can't say I disagree," I chuckled light-heartedly. "He is quite strange, that Zacharie," I commented as I looked around. We were in the residential area of the Elsens. Finding a place to sleep probably wasn't going to be that impossible after all.

"Strange is one word to call him," the Batter told me, motioning with his free hand towards an open door down the road.

"Oh? And have you other words to call him, Monsieur?" I asked.

"Several."

"Enlighten me," I encouraged. This was probably the longest conversation I'd had with the Batter. I was surprised to find he was not at all boring to talk to, even if my words were starting to slur with fatigue.

"Deceitful. Unreliable. Manipulative. Perverse."

"Perverse?" I repeated questioningly, with a raised eyebrow. "How so?"

The Batter dragged his shoes uncomfortably as he followed me. "He has… made comments in passing."

"About you?" I asked, slightly taken aback. One would have to possess quite the nerve to toy with such a muscular man, especially considering he was clutching a baseball bat, which he'd continuously proved to know how to handle.

The Batter cleared his throat. "Yes… and about you."

I tensed. I was of course, not entirely oblivious to Zacharie's… lecherous nature. He had made jokes, but most were of no concern, and certainly nothing to label him as perverse. But perhaps he shared the stronger words with the Batter, unbeknownst to me. "Has he now?" I asked softly, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

"Yes. Frequently, and improperly," he assured me.

"I see… What sort of comments, might I ask?" I inquired.

"Impure ones," he replied simply.

"You consider sex to be impure?" I asked, running my hand across the wall to search for a light switch. My fingers brushed against something solid, and a second later, I'd turned on the lights. They weren't very bright, but it was infinitely better than the darkness.

"No, not at all. Sex is one of the sincerest forms of self-expression and acts of affection. I see no problem with being connected to another being on that level of intimacy, given the correct situation." The red in his eyes seemed to deepen as he spoke, but that was probably an effect brought about by the shadows. Then, as if he remembered what had spurred this train of thought, his eyes narrowed. "It is the merchant's foul wording and desires that I find so foul and improper. To wish them upon me is one thing… It nauseates me, but I can endure it. To wish them on you however… It is disgusting; blasphemous."

I furrowed my brow. "Why is it so bad for me, but not for you?"

"I am merely a purifier; a servant to the one true cause. You, my dearest player, are purity in itself. You are the highest state of perfection that can ever be achieved." He surprised me by placing both his hands on either side of my face, holding me lightly in place as he spoke. "To think that given his way, that boy would demean your purity with such vulgar acts… It sickens me. I am in constant conflict with my desires to cave his skull in and wipe that smirk of his mask."

I stared at him open-mouthed. This conversation had taken a completely different direction than the one I'd imagined. It had never occurred to me that this man felt so strongly about my integrity. His words bordered on religiously fanatical or devout. "You speak as if I'm some embodied god, Monsieur," I told him in hoarse whispers, as I placed my hands over his. "Why do you hold me in such high place of honour?"

"Not a god perhaps," he mulled, "but something similar… a higher being than I or any other, without a doubt."

I gulped. "I did not realise you felt so… strongly about me, Batter." I averted my eyes as I spoke. His were beginning to blaze with the intensity of his words, and the devotion leaking from his irises was searing right through me.

"You are the epitome of sanctity, and it is my mission to carry out your will." His hands were suddenly gone from my face, and as if the current chain of events wasn't surprising enough already, he dropped to his knees before me and clutched at my shirt. "Being in your capable hands has given me a fulfillness I could never hope to achieve otherwise."

"Batter…" I whispered. Without knowing, I'd placed my right hand atop the baseball player's hatted head. "I'm just a girl… A stupid girl from the roughest part of a run-down city… I'm nothing special, and certainly nothing as divine as you seem to think."

"No," the Batter denied, pulling roughly at my shirt and burying his face in it. "No, you are pure. You are my player. You are pure."

He was mumbling incoherently into the fabric of my shirt when I sighed and pulled his hat off. Soft, blonde locks greeted me, and I ran my fingers delightedly through them as I spoke. "Oh sweet Batter," I whispered lovingly, "you would put your faith in someone as weak as me?"

The man nuzzled my shirt and leaned his head back into my hand. "You are not weak. You have led me so far without falter. The road has not been without challenges, but you excelled at all of them. Tell me then, how can I not trust you blindly after all you have done?"

I had nothing to say to that. After all, what he said was not a lie. I had successfully managed to pull us through the scraps the spectres seemed to revel in. I had even made short work of that frightfully rude character, Dedan. He'd threatened the Batter and tried to demean him. Though it hadn't clicked at the time, his actions had caused something in me to snap, and I'd instructed the Batter to launch attack after attack at the vile-mouthed adversary. Alpha, the circular spirit, had been the one to deliver the final blow, under my instruction. I'd still not come to grips with the behaviour or nature of Alpha, and now Omega, who seemed to morph into existence whenever the Batter or I were in trouble. As soon as the conflict ended they melted away, back into the shadows, to await the next time they were needed.

I wondered… Could I call them at will? I closed my eyes, still caressing the top of the Batter's head, and willed them into existence. "Alpha…" I whispered. "Omega…" At first, I felt nothing. Then after a few anxious seconds, I felt a slight agitation in the area around us. The air seemed to hum with vibrations, and ever so slowly, our spherical allies came to life around us. The temperature seemed to escalate from their raw energy, and I felt an aura of serenity engulf us as Alpha and Omega began to emit their ghostly glow.

"Alpha?" The Batter questioned, sensing its presence. "Omega?" He lifted his head to look at me. "Player, are we in danger from the Spectres?" he asked me urgently.

"No dear Batter, calm yourself," I urged him, placing a gentle hand on his tense shoulder. "I was merely curious to see if I could call them at will. It turns out I can after all."

"You see?" The Batter sighed, looking at me with even greater admiration. "Do you not see the power you hold? Only one such as you can call these beings into existence when they please. Only the purest of the pure."

He looked innocent and childlike as he spoke, his voice awash with awe. But I could not stand to see this great man on his knees for me. "Please, stand Batter," I begged him, placing my hand beneath his chin and steering his sight up. "It is odd to have you submit to me in this way."

"It is the rightful way," he insisted, though he did stand, and once more, he towered above me. We were restricted by space, courtesy of the hovering spirits, so that his chest pressed up against mine. Perhaps it was the buzzing of the spirits that I was hearing, but I could swear the Batter's heart had begun an assault on his ribs.

"Your heart is on the right hand side of your body, Batter?" I asked him curiously, placing my head against his chest to hear its strumming. Its rhythm was oddly fast when compared to my own, as if it were trying to break out of his body.

"Yes," he confirmed, moving his hand to the back of my head to hold me to him. "Can you hear it?"

"I can."

"It beats to fulfil your quest. You are its purpose," he whispered into my hair. A shudder went through me, and almost instantaneously, through him as well.

"You felt that?" I asked. I was still being held against his chest, and I was finding it hard to breathe. Not because he was grasping me tightly, but because of the scent emanating from his body. Its effect on me was euphoric, and I was terrified of what it might do to my senses if I inhaled copious amounts of it.

"Of course I felt it," he told me. "We are linked, not unlike puppet and master. Whatever emotion or sensation crosses your body, crosses mine as well."

The tempest in my brain seemed to spread all of a sudden to every extremity of my body. The Batter's scent was pumping my blood faster, filling my vision and blinding me with desires I did not know I wanted. Until now. My fingers itched, my body came alive as if a fire had been lit on my skin and only the Batter could quench the aching flames. I wanted to leap at the man holding me; rip the clothes separating our bodies and give in to the burning desire now coiling in my stomach. Alpha and Omega were vibrating faster now, growing smaller and smaller with ever inhalation of my breath. They were forcing us closer, and with each passing second, the intensity of my urges increased with incalculable ferocity. I gasped, and this time it was my turn to clutch at the other's clothing. I breathed heavily from the aches in my barely-restrained body. I looked up and found that the Batter had opened his other pair of eyes, just as bright a red as the other one. Both were staring at me with unconcealed longing.

"What do you feel now?" I breathed, struggling with the strain of controlling myself, just that little while longer.

He ran his thumb over my lips, and my knees threatened to buckle. "Love," he whispered, "indescribable, uncontrollable love."

I didn't hesitate; I kissed him, and in that moment, Alpha and Omega chose to constrict even further so that I was moulded to the Batter's shape. I could not handle the intensity of proximity any longer, and as I pulled my lips away from the Batter's I banished the spirits back into the shadows.

"Come to bed with me," I begged him. "Please."

I hadn't noticed there were tears streaming out of my eyes until the Batter kissed them away with a gentleness I would never have guessed he possessed.

"Of course my love," he whispered against my dampened skin, "of course."

His arms encircled me, and I was lifted off the ground.

The next thing I felt was the softness of the bed as he lay me down.

Then, him.


	2. Chapter 2

His weight on my chest was the only thing I could register. That is at least, until he kissed me again.

It was different this time; fiercer. His lips connected with mine in a frenzied haste as he pushed me deeper into the mattress of the bed. I hadn't noticed before, but they were cold, like I was kissing two slim lengths of ice rather than the lips of my devoted purifier, but not unpleasantly so. His hands though were even colder, and I gasped involuntarily when I felt them on my stomach. In some distant portion of my subconscious, I wondered if I had been too overwhelmed earlier to notice, or if the Batter really did possess the ability to change his temperature so rapidly.

I moaned; I was pulled back to the present moment when I felt his tongue rolling sensually against my own. He had taken advantage of my gasp and used it to deepen the kiss. It had taken me by surprise, and as I moaned into the Batter's open mouth, he groaned in a low, deep rumble and ground his groin into my aching body. I could never have anticipated how good that would feel until he did it, and I found myself wishing he'd do it again and again. I wound my stationary arms around his neck and held him, trying to coax him into the motion anew. Instead, his teeth clamped down on my bottom lip, biting and sucking the tender flesh until he drew a few droplets of blood. I only knew he'd done so when I felt the sharp, metallic taste on my tongue. It had begun to mingle with the Batter's own taste; of meat and sugar and of something else I could not deduce. It was, surprisingly, not unpleasant.

I had become so preoccupied with the dexterity of his tongue as it caressed my own that I almost missed his hand edging up beneath my shirt. It was the chill of his skin that gave it away, and I shivered when I felt his fingers ghosting over the material of my bra. His mouth twitched slightly against my own into a hint of a smirk as he ran his fingers over the newly-erupted goose-bumps. I wished at that moment that I was able to see that smirk. I had never seen the Batter smile before, not even when we'd got rid of Dedan. Something stirred inside me as I realised that I had been the one to make him smile just now. It wasn't the same as seeing the actual thing, but the realisation was fulfilling just the same.

Without warning, his fingers ceased their motion and his tongue retreated back into his mouth. He did not move away though, and his lips remained as they were; brushing against mine in the most torturous of ways. I was about to cry out in protest when I felt his breath against my skin.

"Player," he whispered hoarsely. "Je peux vous toucher?"

Even with my basic secondary-school level French, I could understand his request. He'd asked to touch me. I was not going to answer in French; the language did not sound nearly as beautiful on my lips as it did his, but ultimately it didn't matter. I doubted I could form a sentence at that moment, much less one in French. Instead, I tentatively unhooked one of my arms from around his neck and placed my hand over his own through the shirt. By doing so I had forced him into cupping my left breast with his large, rough hands. Even though I was the one who initiated it, I still bucked up from the sensation, connecting my hips with the Batter's in one fluid motion.

The man groaned the same instant that I took a sharp intake of breath. From the new proximity of our bodies, I could feel his arousal pressing into my hypersensitized skin. I was not strictly speaking the epitome of innocence in this regard; I'd had my fair share of sexual partners in the three years since my sixteenth birthday, but those had been, more oft than not, young, lust-driven teenage boys that barely uttered five words to me before they were tearing at my clothes and slamming me against the nearest sturdy surface. The Batter was completely different to my previous lovers, so each new thing was an exploration in uncharted waters. He was, first and foremost, a grown man. If he were human, he'd have been somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. Also, quite obviously, there was the issue of him not being human. At least, not completely. No human male I'd ever met had skin that was quite as translucent as the Batter's, nor had they eyes (four of them) that glowed such a startling shade of red. So one would understand my surprise when I felt his length through his trousers and got a bearing of its size.

"Ne vous inquiétez pas," he murmured against my panting mouth as if he'd guessed my train of thought. "Je vais être gentil." As if to demonstrate, he began a slow, amorous rhythm with his hand on my breast, massaging it gently and eliciting a pleasured groan from myself. "Je te le promets." I saw no reason to disbelieve him. In fact, I was arching my back, desperate to increase the electrifying contact between my body and his. He complied, and slipped his free hand beneath my back. Without even so much as an ounce of exertion, he pulled up, bringing me with him into a kneeling position before him. He brought his lips to my face and my skin tingled in anticipation as I awaited his next move. "Je veux embrasser tout votre corps," he whispered into my ear. When he finished the sentence, he placed his lips down onto my jaw and traced the contours of my upper body with long, audible kisses until he reached the neckline of my shirt.

"Oui?" he asked me, his voice laced with desire. I was shaking convulsively from arousal at that point; I would have said yes even if we were in a room full of spectating Elsen.

"Yes," I panted, tightening my grip on his arm. "Please," I begged.

My shirt was off before I could blink, and in its place, the Batter's lips moved and ignited fire wherever they touched. I was writhing, simultaneously wishing to preserve the moment yet impatient to feel more of him, on and in me both. On cue, I felt his fingers toying with the clasp of my bra for the briefest of seconds before he pulled it away, leaving my chest bared and available for his ministrations. Placing his hand on the small of my back, he urged me forward until I was sitting in his lap, bringing his face at a level with my upper chest. He exhaled slowly, letting his breath tickle my exposed flesh and enjoying the tremors that rocked my spine as he rubbed soothing circles into my skin. "Ne bougez pas," he warned.

I was still trying to translate the sentence in my head, and had gotten as far as recognising bouger (to move) when his mouth closed around my right nipple. I could only assume he'd just asked me not to move, and I ended up disobeying him as I hissed in pleasure and jerked forward. The movement caused his teeth to graze the delicate nub, but that only lead to me writhing more in the Batter's lap as I reached up and knotted my fingers in his hair. He moaned deep in his throat when that caused my groin to rub up against his restrained erection. I was not the only one desperate for release. I bucked again when his tongue traced a slow circle. This time, he could not contain himself and let go of my breast with a soft 'pop', groaning into my skin and letting loose a string of curses in French.

I took the opportunity as he was incapacitated and tugged at his tunic. He lifted his arms obediently as I expected him to and allowed me to pull the garment off his dampened body. The black shirt he had on underneath he took off himself, offering me an impressive view of the tensed muscles on his torso as he lifted the clothing above and over his head. I was left breathless for a few seconds as I drank up the beautiful sight before me. His chest was just as pale as his face, and also just as perfect. It seemed impossible to me that anyone could achieve this level of anatomical perfection, and also unfair that such sheer amount of beauty had been condensed into this one man alone. It felt wrong somehow for me to touch him, as if I might by some unknown power taint the perfection that was the Batter. And he thought I was perfect… Had this man never caught a glimpse in the mirror?

"Is something wrong?" he asked me in accented English. His hands were on my hips as he searched my eyes for hints as to why I was reluctant to touch him. "Je t'ai fait mal?" he inquired in a panicked voice.

"No Monsieur," I assured him, placing my hands tentatively on his broad shoulders to put him at ease. "It's just…"

"Quoi?" he urged, when my voice died away.

"You have the body of a god, Batteur," I admitted, stroking his biceps and marvelling at their feel. "Why do you put yourself in my control when you are so perfect; so strong? Why listen to me? Why not the other way round?"

"Never," he said determinately. "My body is yours. My soul is yours." He pushed me back gently onto the mattress as he spoke. He seemed to fumble with something, but I could not see what due to my new position. Then, he came into my line of vision again. "My player… I am yours." Right then I made some sort of inhuman noise in my throat as I struggled to keep my breathing under control. The Batter was looking down at me, his eyes hooded with desire and his hands clasped behind his back.

And he was naked.

"Touchez-moi, Player," he purred, placing his knees on either side of my still-clothed legs. "S'il vous plaît, je vous en prie…" The Batter was begging for my touch, and there I was, lying beneath him, unable to move for the awe that had gripped my nerves. But he did look to be in so much pain, as if he were physically struggling with the compulsion to touch and ease himself from the aching stiffness between his legs that was begging for my attention. "Please…" he begged again in English, scrunching up his face as he eagerly awaited me to give him release.

I could not find it in my heart to deny him that which he so desperately wanted and needed any longer. With a still-trembling hand, I reached out tentatively, hesitating only for the briefest of seconds before curling my fingers around his erection and tightening my grip. The effect was instantaneous, and he all but came undone as I delivered the first, torturously slow stroke. He restrained himself only long enough for me to add another hand to the process. As soon as he felt the second grip pumping down his shaft, he broke down in gasps of uncontrolled pleasure. "Fuck," he moaned, jerking his hips in rhythm to my movements.

I would have been lying if I said the view wasn't driving me crazy. The Batter was moving as one who'd finally got his lifelong desires within reach; thrusting himself forward into my grip to meet my hands before they could even reach the swollen head. The pants escaping his mouth sounded so sinfully sweet to my ears that I found myself wishing I could extract more from him. I licked my lips; If I wasn't going to talk, I might as well give my tongue something to do. I sat up stealthily, never once breaking contact or pace as I urged him on. Then, when I was just about level, I pulled my hands down his shaft and closed my warm, wet mouth over his tip and sucked.

"Sainte sanglante baise!" he cursed. Impulsively, his hands found themselves knotted in my hair, tugging and pulling as he floated in ecstasy. To my surprise, I was rather enjoying myself as I forced more streams of curses from his laboured lungs. He did not taste bad like all the other boys did. In fact, there was very little difference between the taste of his lips and that of his manhood. He must've had been close at one point, because just as I was about to take him deeper into my throat, his hands left my hair and he pulled out of my grasp

"Monsieur?" I asked in confusion. But that one word was all I had the time for, because like a beast in pursuit of carnal desires, he attacked the buckle on my belt and ripped off the remainder of my clothes as if they were made of paper. He climbed on top of me, separating my legs as far as they could go with one of his knees. In doing so, he brushed against my entrance unknowingly, and I moaned long and loud from the treatment.

"Your voice does things to my body, Player," he whispered in a laboured voice. He placed his open palm on my head in such a way that allowed two of his fingers to brush against my temples. "Do you remember what I said, about us being connected?" I saw his free hand reach down between his legs. "Tell me, ma chérie, can you feel this?"

I couldn't answer. I could barely even breathe. I had seen him stroke himself leisurely, but I was in no way prepared for the explosion of sensation that erupted behind my eyelids. It felt like heaven and hell had both exploded in a myriad of colour, right at the bottom of my stomach. I had never known such degree of pleasure. There wasn't even a word to describe what I was feeling, and I doubt I would ever find one. It felt akin to having my insides set alight with fireworks and simultaneously bathed in the waters of the coldest lake. And it had all come from the Batter. And he did not stop at just once.

He stroked himself again, and again, delivering incalculable pleasure to us both with the bare minimum of contact. If this was what it was like to be connected to the Batter, then I never wanted him to stop. "Me le dire," he insisted between strokes. Tell me. "Pouvez-vous le sentir?" Can you feel it?

"Yes!" I moaned, unable to control my speech. "Yes," I panted again. "Yes."

I was about to scream in pain when the pleasure suddenly stopped, but it only lasted a split-second. Then the Batter was filling me, slipping deeper inside me until I could not tell where he ended and I began. He kissed me once when his hips bumped against mine, signalling he was buried deep inside me right up to the base of his shaft. I didn't think he would fit before, but now he was completely sheathed inside my core, rubbing oh so wonderfully against that sweet spot. One of his hands moved between us, and I felt his fingers rubbing sensually right above my entrance. My eyes rolled back in pleasure when he shifted his position and I felt him move inside me.

"Batteur," I shuddered against his lips.

"Je t'aime," he whispered, swiftly pulling out and thrusting back in with one fluid motion. He shushed me affectionately when I whimpered from the overwhelming pleasure overriding my body. "Je t'aime."

The final whisper had just finished forming on his lips when the coil inside my stomach exploded, and I was temporarily blinded. I had little recollection of the exact sensations that claimed my body at that exact moment. I just knew that I could not breathe and could not see nor hear nor touch anything. Anything except the Batter. He was all around me; inside me; a part of me. I held on to him as the waves of my orgasm rocked me fiercer than anything I knew could be possible, and in turn, he held on to me. He crushed me to him, as if he meant to consume me in his embrace, and spilled his seed deep inside me as he jerked from the delirium of bliss. And at that moment, he was all there was. Just him and I and the hot, sticky liquid now spilling out beneath us as we lay panting in each other's arms. Who could ask for more? Who could want more?

My vision returned along with the rest of my sensations slowly at first, then all at once. I could once more see my beloved Batter as he clutched me to him, as if he feared I might disappear. I did not attempt to move. I did not want to move. I just sat there, breathing in the scent of his alabaster skin as the product of our love continued to pool on the sheets beneath us. Finally, he lifted his face and locked all four of his eyes with my own.

"Mine," I whispered possessively as I buried my face in the crevice of his neck.

"Yes," he agreed, wrapping his arms around me once more and pulling us down to lie on the untouched pillows. "Yours."


End file.
